Saturday, April 12, 2008
Already
Some one got my eggs in the night. She had been only been incubating for a mere 24 hours. I imagine it was a coyote, however, there may have been a fight since there are still about 6 eggs untouched in the nest. The mama has not returned for them and has been gone too long for the eggs to be viable. I am leaving them out for another night before I clean it up since I assume the culprit will return for the rest and they may as well provide someone some protein. Sad.
Friday, April 11, 2008
Elmo Never Looked So Good
So we're giving it a go. Cross your fingers. It's been about 17 minutes and no pee pee on Elmo!! Not the best pix...one blurry and one drunk. Drunk with "unda-wee-uh" giddiness.
Dad Entry #27
I’m not sure how I feel about Meggie’s haircut. I think at the heart of my reflection is a simple question: can you add to, or subtract from… perfection. No. No you can’t. You can’t improve Meggie. By trimming her hair?!?! Please. Some might argue – and fairly well - that you can detract from perfection. But you can’t. Not this kind. Maybe ‘infinity’ is the right word then and mathematically we can ‘prove’ or say with certainty. But what does math have to do with this; we’re talking about – in this case - a bad haircut. Of course there’s no impact. No more than a drop of rain can damage the ocean. What about misbehaving? That’s just a big wave here and there, the kind surfers love. What about wrecking my car when she’s sixteen? Um, maybe that’s a little storm, a tiny hurricane (but think how HUGE the ocean is). What about picking the wrong boyfriend? I think maybe that’s a tsunami and devastating tidal wave and let’s change the subject.
Michael burned himself on the edge of a baking sheet. We keep him away from hot pans and the hot oven but he came in fast, threw up an arm, and got a nice burn on his arm. He won’t do it again. It blistered into a white line across his wrist. He was bandaged in a ‘mummy’ gauze wrap. This part he was pretty excited about. Maybe he won’t be so careful after all.
Megan stopped doing something I really enjoyed. I don’t think she fully grasped that ‘reading’ meant there were words on the pages that told a story which we relayed to her, straight from the book, the same every time. Very rarely do I skip or improvise (because Michael always busted me when I did that!). With Megan, I would start a book and she would say, “Talk about dat,” as she pointed to one of the pages or pictures. “Talk about dat, Dad.” Sweet thing. I have read a book called “Double Pink” to her about a thousand times now. I guess she knows the words are always the same and they come from the letters on the pages now. In fact, she knows those letters. I love it when she belts out her ‘A-B-C’s’ which she usually follows with a super rendition of ‘Bilo Baby Buntin’.
Michael burned himself on the edge of a baking sheet. We keep him away from hot pans and the hot oven but he came in fast, threw up an arm, and got a nice burn on his arm. He won’t do it again. It blistered into a white line across his wrist. He was bandaged in a ‘mummy’ gauze wrap. This part he was pretty excited about. Maybe he won’t be so careful after all.
Megan stopped doing something I really enjoyed. I don’t think she fully grasped that ‘reading’ meant there were words on the pages that told a story which we relayed to her, straight from the book, the same every time. Very rarely do I skip or improvise (because Michael always busted me when I did that!). With Megan, I would start a book and she would say, “Talk about dat,” as she pointed to one of the pages or pictures. “Talk about dat, Dad.” Sweet thing. I have read a book called “Double Pink” to her about a thousand times now. I guess she knows the words are always the same and they come from the letters on the pages now. In fact, she knows those letters. I love it when she belts out her ‘A-B-C’s’ which she usually follows with a super rendition of ‘Bilo Baby Buntin’.
Thursday, April 10, 2008
A Nest, Mommy!!
A few days ago, while swordfighting with sticks in the front yard, Michael discovered our favorite duck had made her nest perilously close to our front door. She laid us a beauty of a nest (7 eggs!) in the irises last year with disastrous results thanks to a coyote. But she came back with a vengeance and with some babies to make up for, laying an even dozen this year. I hope that her location is beneficial for the chicks and that the proximity to our door/light scares off foxes and such. She seems completely fine with us coming and going (though we do avoid the front door some) and with the kids yelling and tearing through the front yard. Cross your fingers that I don't have to explain the too-early broken shells this year.
I ran out to take these this afternoon when she left the nest uncovered in the rain for some reason. I have a baseball bat near the front door to beat down any predator that arrives in her absence.
I ran out to take these this afternoon when she left the nest uncovered in the rain for some reason. I have a baseball bat near the front door to beat down any predator that arrives in her absence.
Wednesday, April 09, 2008
Chop, Chop
Well, the deed is finally done. I have been avoiding it for such a long time, so it was funny to have to fight the urge to just hack it all off รก la Victoria Beckham. Only took about 3 inches in the end. She was so good the whole time...perhaps it was because she was sitting in a police car for the cut. Those photos will have to come later...I forgot my camera and had to buy a one-time-use cam for the occasion. I barely even remember how to have film developed.
Tuesday, April 08, 2008
Dad Entry #26
Sorry, this is longish, I threw a lot of notes in here….
The other day, Michael was playing with a ‘scupa’ diver in the bathtub. He told me the diver was “diving deep for crustaceans.” I said, “If he goes really deep he’ll need lots of air. How big is that tank on his back?” Michael thought hard and said, “It’s 150 gallops.”
And that’s a perfect segue into mentioning Wyatt. Wyatt is Aunt Diane’s beautiful, big thoroughbred horse. He’s really an impressive animal. He has a dark, solid coat with just the right amount of sheen to give him that sleek, powerful look. He’s, well, a thoroughbred. But Wyatt has a timidity about him too, a humility, perhaps, although some of that is due to the horse hierarchy at the stable. He was very nice to Megan and Michael, as were all the horses there. They sniffed and licked at both kids and let them touch their long faces. We’re anxious to go back. Maybe this summer we can ride Wyatt.
At the shark aquarium in Minneapolis, Alissa – my niece – asked me to read a sign to her. So I read aloud, “There are less than 100 shark attacks worldwide each year, and only 10 of those are fatal.” I should’ve ad-libbed or substituted something more cheery or at least left off the second part. But I didn’t so Alissa asked, “What does ‘fatal’ mean?” I said, “Oh, um, that just means they got hurt a little worse than the others.”
I was talking with Michael and used the word ‘intense’. I’m sure I was demonstratively reacting to some super dinosaur story of his. He asked, “What does ‘intense’ mean.” I told him, ‘serious’. He said, “Well, what does that mean?” I couldn’t grab another synonym quickly so I changed the subject.
Michael told me yesterday, “Daddy, do you know why this is called a battleship?” The way he phrased the question told me he wanted to give an answer, not get one. So I said, “No.” “Because they battle,” Michael told me. Battleships battle. Yes, sir. But the point of this story, or rather what I realized when this happened: Michael won’t share toys but he will share knowledge. And it’s quite useful knowledge, stuff like ‘battleships battle’ and ‘Triceratops was not a meat-eater.’ So that’s something, anyway, something he willingly shares. Man I feel better now, as a parent I mean. I’m not totally failing. But I really wish Michael didn’t, like, become physically ill every time we made him share toys with Megan.
Today Megan wiped at her nose several times then declared. “I got da booga, Daddy, I got da booga!” She was pretty excited. After all, clear nasal passages are paramount to refreshing, deep breaths. I share her pride – and urgency – when pursuing this kind of accomplishment. I don’t remember where she put the booger, though. Did she even have a Kleenex? Maybe one of you will find it on our couch.
I love watching Megan with ice cream. Especially when served in a bowl with a spoon. When in a cone, it just melts and gets everywhere as she licks and takes bites of it. In a bowl, however, we get utensils, and how fun is that! In a bowl, she takes her spoon and kind of chips away at the glacier that is her scoop of ice cream. She stabs at it, eventually scrapes a piece loose, struggles forever to get it onto her spoon, then lifts it to her lips. Yes, of course it does. It slides off the spoon just shy of her mouth and falls to the table (or worse, in her lap). She doesn’t get angry, though; she’s still just excited to have ice cream. And she’s focused, determined. And maybe she knows at two years old she’s a bit short on dexterity. So she looks at it momentarily as a puddle forms around her ice cream bite now melting and flattened on the table. She tries to pick it up, a very slippery thing now, with the fingers of her left hand. The spoon is still in her right hand. Eventually she gets some of it into her mouth. Then the process repeats itself. Forever. Even after there’s only liquid in her bowl, she keeps scooping and spilling.
I could describe Megan all day long; sorry to bore you.
I asked Megan to do something the other day, I don’t even remember what it was. But her answer was pretty cute. She said, “Daddy, no, I’m too little.”
The other day, Michael was playing with a ‘scupa’ diver in the bathtub. He told me the diver was “diving deep for crustaceans.” I said, “If he goes really deep he’ll need lots of air. How big is that tank on his back?” Michael thought hard and said, “It’s 150 gallops.”
And that’s a perfect segue into mentioning Wyatt. Wyatt is Aunt Diane’s beautiful, big thoroughbred horse. He’s really an impressive animal. He has a dark, solid coat with just the right amount of sheen to give him that sleek, powerful look. He’s, well, a thoroughbred. But Wyatt has a timidity about him too, a humility, perhaps, although some of that is due to the horse hierarchy at the stable. He was very nice to Megan and Michael, as were all the horses there. They sniffed and licked at both kids and let them touch their long faces. We’re anxious to go back. Maybe this summer we can ride Wyatt.
At the shark aquarium in Minneapolis, Alissa – my niece – asked me to read a sign to her. So I read aloud, “There are less than 100 shark attacks worldwide each year, and only 10 of those are fatal.” I should’ve ad-libbed or substituted something more cheery or at least left off the second part. But I didn’t so Alissa asked, “What does ‘fatal’ mean?” I said, “Oh, um, that just means they got hurt a little worse than the others.”
I was talking with Michael and used the word ‘intense’. I’m sure I was demonstratively reacting to some super dinosaur story of his. He asked, “What does ‘intense’ mean.” I told him, ‘serious’. He said, “Well, what does that mean?” I couldn’t grab another synonym quickly so I changed the subject.
Michael told me yesterday, “Daddy, do you know why this is called a battleship?” The way he phrased the question told me he wanted to give an answer, not get one. So I said, “No.” “Because they battle,” Michael told me. Battleships battle. Yes, sir. But the point of this story, or rather what I realized when this happened: Michael won’t share toys but he will share knowledge. And it’s quite useful knowledge, stuff like ‘battleships battle’ and ‘Triceratops was not a meat-eater.’ So that’s something, anyway, something he willingly shares. Man I feel better now, as a parent I mean. I’m not totally failing. But I really wish Michael didn’t, like, become physically ill every time we made him share toys with Megan.
Today Megan wiped at her nose several times then declared. “I got da booga, Daddy, I got da booga!” She was pretty excited. After all, clear nasal passages are paramount to refreshing, deep breaths. I share her pride – and urgency – when pursuing this kind of accomplishment. I don’t remember where she put the booger, though. Did she even have a Kleenex? Maybe one of you will find it on our couch.
I love watching Megan with ice cream. Especially when served in a bowl with a spoon. When in a cone, it just melts and gets everywhere as she licks and takes bites of it. In a bowl, however, we get utensils, and how fun is that! In a bowl, she takes her spoon and kind of chips away at the glacier that is her scoop of ice cream. She stabs at it, eventually scrapes a piece loose, struggles forever to get it onto her spoon, then lifts it to her lips. Yes, of course it does. It slides off the spoon just shy of her mouth and falls to the table (or worse, in her lap). She doesn’t get angry, though; she’s still just excited to have ice cream. And she’s focused, determined. And maybe she knows at two years old she’s a bit short on dexterity. So she looks at it momentarily as a puddle forms around her ice cream bite now melting and flattened on the table. She tries to pick it up, a very slippery thing now, with the fingers of her left hand. The spoon is still in her right hand. Eventually she gets some of it into her mouth. Then the process repeats itself. Forever. Even after there’s only liquid in her bowl, she keeps scooping and spilling.
I could describe Megan all day long; sorry to bore you.
I asked Megan to do something the other day, I don’t even remember what it was. But her answer was pretty cute. She said, “Daddy, no, I’m too little.”
Friday, March 28, 2008
Wednesday, March 26, 2008
Thank You, Aunt Jenny
This morning we took a trip to Michaels, the hobby shop. I add the qualifier because Megan was devastated when we pulled up to the store and there was no Melanie or Mia to be found (she thought we were going to Michael SILVESTRI'S.) Aunt Jenny had sent gift cards for Easter and the kids were SO excited. Michael said, "There are so many things here I'd like to buy!" After much deliberation, animals were chosen. Megan went with a tiger, a clown fish and a jellyfish. Michael chose a tube of boats and a hermit crab. The world is good. Thank you, Aunt Jenny!
A Little Dressing Up
In an effort to play with his sister, Michael went above and beyond a few days ago. What else to say?
Tuesday, March 18, 2008
Dad Entry #25
The house is empty. No kids. The difference, of course, is striking. Less noise, fewer dishes, no diapers, no schedule, we eat whenever, come and go as we please. Michael and Megan are at the Ploehn’s for 5 days and, yes, it’s a bit eerie, sort of timeless, or just retro, the way Sara and I were free to run around Chicago over the weekend, our favorite dives, nice places too, streets and storefronts, our old apartments, old neighborhoods. Places marked by memory or a particular charm. Ambiance is a good word for restaurants, the low-lit kind, but some of our favorite places don’t have ambiance really; they just have history, the kind fashioned by decades and millions of patrons. Character is a word, but it’s overused. These places are comfortably worn down, wise. Some are beat up, not super-clean. But they are fun; they smile at us. And they have great salsa. Or tacos on corn tortillas with cilantro. Or Pad Thai, Pasta Giovanni, a sandwich no one else can make, service you remember, the perfect line-up of tap beers for both taste and cool handles which the bartenders pull nonchalantly when they draw us a beer. We caught some live music for the first time in ages. Now we’re going to buy two guitars. Why not? So we didn’t have the kids tugging on us. And we couldn’t tug on them (I have to give Megan regular squeezes when I’m with her). No entertaining chatter from Michael. No questions like, “Daddy, does summer come after winter?” Yes it does, Michael, yes it does. There’s a little thing called spring in there too, but spring is nice, very nice. And the Cubs, Michael, the Cubs are in town again in two weeks. And I have tickets.
Friday, February 15, 2008
Dad Entry #24
Megan is so sweet. If she drops something she says, “Sowwy, Dad.” Or if I drop something she says, “It’s okay, Dad.” Though, my favorite is still when she approaches, with hands in the pockets of her little blue jeans, and she says, “Hey Daddy, what-ya workin’?” I think Megan is in the sweet spot of cuteness right now. Three feet tall and putting sentences together in her sweet, little, high inflected voice. Of course, sometimes she says, “Go away, Daddy” and I don’t think that’s very cute at all.
Michael doesn’t like to have his toenails trimmed. Today, when Sara said he was due for a trim, he said, “Trimming is ridiculous. Trimming is NOT part of this world.” I guess he hasn’t fully suppressed the memories of Mommy drawing blood when trimming his nails as a baby.
Meggie still says, “Like an orca, like an orca,” when she’s eating or running around. It’s cute but it’s so, well, Michael. My little Megan has learned a lot from, and imitates, big brother Michael. I guess that’s okay, though I wish Michael was nicer to her. He still views her as an annoyance, mostly, and he’s very bristly and overprotective of all his things when Megan is near. “No, MAY-GAN!” he says. He shouldn’t scold her in the first place. But the condescension in his voice is what really what makes our skin crawl. Yep, Michael doesn’t share or care for Megs like Sara and I want him to. Oh well, other parents advise us that sibling rivalry and jealousy – especially at this age – are common. “Yeah, we had to deal with that,” they say while rolling eyes and smiling, “But just wait, some day they’ll look after each other. Michael will take pleasure in protecting her and putting a scare in younger boys that show interest in her or, even worse, are mean to her.” I hope so. We continue to work on the way Michael treats Megan day after day after day after day after day after day...we are persistent. And we are still waiting for consistent, noticeable progress.
The other day Michael was drawing on his white board and told me, “Daddy, I’m drawing Jupiter’s moon. It has a lot of volcanoes on it.” Interesting. I didn’t know that. To date, around 700 species of dinosaurs have been named. Michael has studied every one of them. Some of the names are unpronounceable to non-scientifically minded or trained people. Indeed, they are no problem for Michael. He isn’t even in kindergarten yet but it seems he can recognize and flawlessly pronounce the name of every dinosaur that ever lived. And yes, like any arrogant academian, he will eagerly – almost gleefully – correct someone who attempts to pronounce – and subsequently butchers – a species name like Pachycephalasaurus or Deinonychus or Sinosauropteryx. Perhaps Megan will imitate Michael’s inquisitiveness and capacity to learn. And capacity to verbalize and communicate. But not his capacity to manipulate or argue pretty please. Yes, Megan will learn a great deal from Michael like all of us younger siblings learned from our older siblings. (Thanks, Jen. Jenny did tons for me. No question. Those of us who are younger siblings are lucky to have our older counterparts).
So Michael appears to enjoy scholastic exercise more than physical exertion or challenge. Michael prefers not to swim alone or get dressed by himself. Megan, on the other hand, insists on doing such things unassisted. She is fond of saying, “Do it self,” when anyone tries to help her with anything. And she will run and jump into an empty swimming pool without fear. Contrast that with Michael who agonizes before going down a slide at the park. Michael will actually argue that he can’t do something. He’ll sit and frown and sigh loudly with one leg in his pants, for example, certain that he needs help, refusing to continue trying without it. Of course, with proper instruction and encouragement he can, and will, finish putting on his pants. Alone, that is, without any physical help. But he is frustrated much quicker by physical challenges than intellectual ones. Oh well, we all have strengths and preferences and so on. And we all develop different skills and different areas of our lives at varying rates. Amen. Live and learn. Or, as a song by Limp Bizkit puts it, “Life is a lesson, you learn it when you’re through.” I think that kind of says what I mean, although Limp Bizkit is pretty wild and crazy and profane. I really ought to quote Ben Franklin or Lincoln or Churchill or Socrates, instead.
I realize two things. Number 1: This is a long entry. Sorry. If you’re still reading, thank you, you are the only one, thanks for your interest and support, the Cox family loves you! Number 2: I know I haven’t been very kind to Michael in this entry. So let me tell you something: Michael is the greatest thing that’s happened in the last one hundred years since the Cubs won a World Series in 1908. And, while we’re on the subject of baseball, let me tell you something else: Michael is a good hitter. He’s been hitting off his tee in the basement a lot lately. Thanks to Papa John for making the tee. Michael is making good use and almost killed me one time already with a rocket he crushed right at me. I couldn’t get my hands up or out of the way fast enough (I was only about ten feet away) and the hard, solid plastic ball left a perfectly round, nasty, stinging welt on my chest. Awesome! It was good pain!
Michael doesn’t like to have his toenails trimmed. Today, when Sara said he was due for a trim, he said, “Trimming is ridiculous. Trimming is NOT part of this world.” I guess he hasn’t fully suppressed the memories of Mommy drawing blood when trimming his nails as a baby.
Meggie still says, “Like an orca, like an orca,” when she’s eating or running around. It’s cute but it’s so, well, Michael. My little Megan has learned a lot from, and imitates, big brother Michael. I guess that’s okay, though I wish Michael was nicer to her. He still views her as an annoyance, mostly, and he’s very bristly and overprotective of all his things when Megan is near. “No, MAY-GAN!” he says. He shouldn’t scold her in the first place. But the condescension in his voice is what really what makes our skin crawl. Yep, Michael doesn’t share or care for Megs like Sara and I want him to. Oh well, other parents advise us that sibling rivalry and jealousy – especially at this age – are common. “Yeah, we had to deal with that,” they say while rolling eyes and smiling, “But just wait, some day they’ll look after each other. Michael will take pleasure in protecting her and putting a scare in younger boys that show interest in her or, even worse, are mean to her.” I hope so. We continue to work on the way Michael treats Megan day after day after day after day after day after day...we are persistent. And we are still waiting for consistent, noticeable progress.
The other day Michael was drawing on his white board and told me, “Daddy, I’m drawing Jupiter’s moon. It has a lot of volcanoes on it.” Interesting. I didn’t know that. To date, around 700 species of dinosaurs have been named. Michael has studied every one of them. Some of the names are unpronounceable to non-scientifically minded or trained people. Indeed, they are no problem for Michael. He isn’t even in kindergarten yet but it seems he can recognize and flawlessly pronounce the name of every dinosaur that ever lived. And yes, like any arrogant academian, he will eagerly – almost gleefully – correct someone who attempts to pronounce – and subsequently butchers – a species name like Pachycephalasaurus or Deinonychus or Sinosauropteryx. Perhaps Megan will imitate Michael’s inquisitiveness and capacity to learn. And capacity to verbalize and communicate. But not his capacity to manipulate or argue pretty please. Yes, Megan will learn a great deal from Michael like all of us younger siblings learned from our older siblings. (Thanks, Jen. Jenny did tons for me. No question. Those of us who are younger siblings are lucky to have our older counterparts).
So Michael appears to enjoy scholastic exercise more than physical exertion or challenge. Michael prefers not to swim alone or get dressed by himself. Megan, on the other hand, insists on doing such things unassisted. She is fond of saying, “Do it self,” when anyone tries to help her with anything. And she will run and jump into an empty swimming pool without fear. Contrast that with Michael who agonizes before going down a slide at the park. Michael will actually argue that he can’t do something. He’ll sit and frown and sigh loudly with one leg in his pants, for example, certain that he needs help, refusing to continue trying without it. Of course, with proper instruction and encouragement he can, and will, finish putting on his pants. Alone, that is, without any physical help. But he is frustrated much quicker by physical challenges than intellectual ones. Oh well, we all have strengths and preferences and so on. And we all develop different skills and different areas of our lives at varying rates. Amen. Live and learn. Or, as a song by Limp Bizkit puts it, “Life is a lesson, you learn it when you’re through.” I think that kind of says what I mean, although Limp Bizkit is pretty wild and crazy and profane. I really ought to quote Ben Franklin or Lincoln or Churchill or Socrates, instead.
I realize two things. Number 1: This is a long entry. Sorry. If you’re still reading, thank you, you are the only one, thanks for your interest and support, the Cox family loves you! Number 2: I know I haven’t been very kind to Michael in this entry. So let me tell you something: Michael is the greatest thing that’s happened in the last one hundred years since the Cubs won a World Series in 1908. And, while we’re on the subject of baseball, let me tell you something else: Michael is a good hitter. He’s been hitting off his tee in the basement a lot lately. Thanks to Papa John for making the tee. Michael is making good use and almost killed me one time already with a rocket he crushed right at me. I couldn’t get my hands up or out of the way fast enough (I was only about ten feet away) and the hard, solid plastic ball left a perfectly round, nasty, stinging welt on my chest. Awesome! It was good pain!
Sunday, February 03, 2008
Jim Gill
We went to a concert for the kids yesterday...everyone seemed to really like it. There were obviously tattoos and face painters beforehand. Here's Michael with his guys...Silvestri and Ben Lamonica.
Wednesday, January 30, 2008
Are You Kidding?
I must be the most negligent mother on the planet. My children have had more accidents and illnesses in the last few months than anyone I have ever met. Today, Meg split her chin open. In all honesty, I had a little something to do with it. Here's how it went down:
Megans bumper pad from her crib has been laying on the couch since The Night of Vomit. Washed, of course, and waiting to be stitched where it tore in the wash. She started playing with it. At some point, I thought it would be funny for her if I wrapped her up in it like a burrito. So I did, arms and all. As soon as I tied it off so it would stay on, I thought, "This is a bad idea. She could fall and she wouldn't be able to catch herself." And before the thought was even finished, she had wiped out and caught her little baby face on the wooden stool that the kids use to wash hands. I was scared to death to pick her up, for fear that I would be greeted with another set of snaggle teeth. But I had to pick her up, as she was wrapped tightly and could not move! So I did and at first all looked fine, until I caught sight of internal anatomy gaping in her chin area. AUGH!
But I have done this before. As I yelled at Michael to get on his shoes and get Megs, I had her cleaned up, butterfly bandaged and Motrin-ed within minutes. By the time Dan arrived at the pediatrician, she had already been Dermabonded and calmed. Now I think we'll go out to dinner to make her happy. Plus, I don't want to make it.
Did I mention that last night was The Night of Vomit II? Michael this time. And he was afraid to tell me, so he slept in it all night. So not only am I carrying around an Atlas-like ball of guilt, I now have some majorly set-in stains. He told me, "A stranger came in the night and threw up in my bed." What do you say to that? He's less afraid of the idea of a stranger entering his room than he is of my wrath. Wow.
Megans bumper pad from her crib has been laying on the couch since The Night of Vomit. Washed, of course, and waiting to be stitched where it tore in the wash. She started playing with it. At some point, I thought it would be funny for her if I wrapped her up in it like a burrito. So I did, arms and all. As soon as I tied it off so it would stay on, I thought, "This is a bad idea. She could fall and she wouldn't be able to catch herself." And before the thought was even finished, she had wiped out and caught her little baby face on the wooden stool that the kids use to wash hands. I was scared to death to pick her up, for fear that I would be greeted with another set of snaggle teeth. But I had to pick her up, as she was wrapped tightly and could not move! So I did and at first all looked fine, until I caught sight of internal anatomy gaping in her chin area. AUGH!
But I have done this before. As I yelled at Michael to get on his shoes and get Megs, I had her cleaned up, butterfly bandaged and Motrin-ed within minutes. By the time Dan arrived at the pediatrician, she had already been Dermabonded and calmed. Now I think we'll go out to dinner to make her happy. Plus, I don't want to make it.
Did I mention that last night was The Night of Vomit II? Michael this time. And he was afraid to tell me, so he slept in it all night. So not only am I carrying around an Atlas-like ball of guilt, I now have some majorly set-in stains. He told me, "A stranger came in the night and threw up in my bed." What do you say to that? He's less afraid of the idea of a stranger entering his room than he is of my wrath. Wow.
Tuesday, January 29, 2008
Let's Rhyme
We are eating lunch and Michael and I are playing a rhyming game. I tell him a word and he has to come up with something that rhymes with it...and it has to be an ACTUAL word, not just that word starting with a different letter. Anyway, he is getting annoyed with all the times I am saying, "Michael, 'toor' isn't a word! You have to come up with a real word that rhymes with 'door'."
So he said, "OK, mommy, I have one for you. Are you ready?"
I said, "Yes, of course."
He said, very slowly so that I would not get confused, "Car-na-taur-us."
Yeah, right, kid.
So he said, "OK, mommy, I have one for you. Are you ready?"
I said, "Yes, of course."
He said, very slowly so that I would not get confused, "Car-na-taur-us."
Yeah, right, kid.
Let's Talk about Poop, Baby
So Michael has had some trouble in the elimination department lately. I have explained to him that it is probably due to the fact that he doesn't really want to drink very much anymore. That staying hydrated is a really important thing in keeping things, well...moving (not to get too graphic). So he's been trying to finish his cup of whatever at every meal.
He just went into the bathroom and told me, "I am going to make sure this is really soft!" After a bit, I got the "I did it!!" which means 'come help with the rest of this insanely complicated process.'
While he was washing up he said, "That was so comfortable, I cannot even BELIEVE it! That was just SO fascinating!" And then after a moment, "Mom, what does 'fascinating' mean?"
He just went into the bathroom and told me, "I am going to make sure this is really soft!" After a bit, I got the "I did it!!" which means 'come help with the rest of this insanely complicated process.'
While he was washing up he said, "That was so comfortable, I cannot even BELIEVE it! That was just SO fascinating!" And then after a moment, "Mom, what does 'fascinating' mean?"
Sunday, January 27, 2008
She Rests after The Night of Vomit
So this was the day after Meg (and Evelyn) was up half the night and vomiting spaghetti and blueberries into every corner of her crib (ever done laundry at 3:45 in the morning?). She was very tired and pretty crabby, though it's hard to tell from the smile on her face. She was so so happy to be all cuddled under the blankets and propped up to watch Elmo. She laid there, nearly motionless, for a full hour. And I let her because I was tired, too.
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